


Did we miss a memo? (or "this angel and demon did not sign up for this")

by llamabunnybird



Series: HetaOmens Ficlet Collection [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crowley wants a drink, Gen, Helpful Crowley, Historical, Historical References, Implicit Aziraphale/Crowley, The Arrangement, nations are a pain, they didn't sign up for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:03:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llamabunnybird/pseuds/llamabunnybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale and Crowley signed up to protect/watch/guide(or tempt) humanity. Not the personified beings that embody them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Aziraphale had run into one. It had been 200BC and the individual had run right over him. “Hey!” he exclaimed dusting off the scrolls that had fallen into the dirt Taking a second look at the child he added “What are you and haven’t you ever learned any manners” (his ability to scold was an innate one).  
The child blinked at him “I’m Egypt! Who are you!?” Circling him the child’s dog sniffed at his feet “You aren’t one of us I’m quite sure!”  
Aziraphale blinked back “I must have missed a memo” he said blankly running his free hand through his hair “Why do they never tell me these things?” he muttered.  
The child hit his knees with his stick “Hey!! Can you tell that snaky guy to stop killing one of my people’s husbands? People are starting to think she’s cursed and it’s giving me a headache!”  
“Snaky guy? And that is very rude!” Aziraphale added “Hit me once more and I will break your stick”  
“He hisses and he doesn’t feel like nation or a person either” Egypt said determinedly  
“I’ll take care of it” Aziraphale said as he nudged the dog away from his foot.  
“Thanks!” and with that the child was gone disappeared into thin air much like Crowley and Aziraphale did on occasion.  
Aziraphale sighed “I really need to listen in on the Angelic Radio more often…”  
As he went to drop off his scrolls and get his smiting sword he had a thought “wait… that means that…”.a quick angelic mental survey of the earth and its inhabitants later and he was at a tavern where Crowley found him later looking miserable and in shock.  
“All of them” Aziraphale was muttering hopelessly  
“What?” Crowley had come looking for a nice argument and some alcohol (with maybe a little bloodshed) instead he got a drunk depressed angel.  
“All the countries *hic* all of them have a little avatar now” the Angel put his head on the bar.  
Crowley ordered himself a drink and slumped onto a chair next to him “fuck that makes things complicated”  
“You must have missed the memo too?”  
“Do you really think hell sends memos?”  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
The second time was in the 1200’s when Crowley and Aziraphle were fighting over the crusades. Two small children interrupted their fight (Aziraphle had Crowley in a headlock) dashing through the clearing outside the armies encampment obviously fighting themselves. The smaller one soon being caught and sat on small fists beating him into the ground. “You Angleterre are responsible for this all of this!!” the blond child was shrieking as the other tried to throw him off.  
Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other and looked at the children and abandoned their fight to find out what in Go-well in Hells name anyway was going on.  
A few seconds later had Aziraphale holding a kicking yelling child with the biggest eyebrows he had ever seen while Crowley struggled to hold a wiggling child with long blond hair.  
“Now who are you two and what do you mean it’s his fault” Crowley snapped.  
“I’m England” Aziraphale’s child said sulkily  
“I’m France” the other child said proudly  
“In that case” snapped Aziraphale “It’s both of your faults” and after a second of thought he added “And that means that dreadful child Teuton should be around somewhere too right?”  
France shrugged as much as he could in the hold Crowley had him in “Last I saw he was off bugging Austria”  
“Why’d they even bring you lot along” asked Crowley wonderingly as he put the child down.  
“It makes the men feel better” replied England scooting over to France as soon as Aziraphale put him down apparently when faced with two angels (well 1 of them more or less anyway) bickering and mutual hatred could be put on hold.  
Aziraphale blinked “well that’s the biggest load of codswallop I’ve heard since Caesars ‘they won’t kill me they love me’ speech. Something awful could happen to you! “  
“I can take care of myself!” England protested his eyebrows joining in a scowl “I’m a big nation!”  
“If you’re such a big nation then why does Scotland say you still wet the bed” retorted France crossing his arms “I’ve fought more wars than you”  
“I’ve survived Vikings”  
And so they began to fight again.  
Crowley and Aziraphale walked away “We are never gonna be able to get those two to stop fighting are we?” Crowley asked bleakly “I mean I like mayhem as any good demon should but….”  
“I hate children” Aziraphale said annoyed “I mean really they are annoying”  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
The third time Crowley and Aziraphale decided to put aside their differences. It was the plague. The summer of 1350 had seen first one nation and then another fall to the disease spreading like a fire over the land. Crowley remained in the lower half of Europe to care for the nations there while Aziraphale took care of the northern ones. With everything in chaos the heads of state were more than happy to release their charges to the care of celestial beings who might understand how to care for them better. This happy faith or resigned faith was very misplaced. Neither one had seen anything like it. Ever.  
Norway was throwing up black ocean water and writhing in pain while England was almost literally burning up with fever. Spain was dancing manically while France just lay in a coma. It was not a good time to be a nation. It was not a good time to be anyone. The letters between Crowley and Aziraphle were full of comparing symptoms and mutual weariness with the disease (but when Crowley had stated that Go- the man upstairs was a sadistic bastard Aziraphale had snapped at him that it was ineffable and he was sure it was for a good reason). The avatars of Poland and Lithuania seemed to be the only ones mostly untouched but that was likely due to their habit of setting the homes of people with the plague on fire (with the people still inside). Aziraphale made a mental note to tell them off about that later as he bathed the Italy siblings faces with cool clothes. He and Crowley had switched places this week and the change was nice. Sick nation/children still but different ones. And maybe Crowley would be able to help the ones in the north better. The Germanic nation’s seemed to be on the mend more or less with Austria being able to sit up now in bed and Teuton well Prussia now being able to bicker with him in-between coughing up his lungs. The last straw for Aziraphale up north had been when Sweden started coughing ash out of his lungs from all the burning bodies being disposed of. One could only hope that wouldn’t happen here. 

0o0o0o0o  
In 1776 Aziraphale went to the colonies. He had grown tired of watching France and England and the rest of them bicker over the continent and decided to see for himself what was so worth fighting about. 4 months later standing in the St Lawrence up to his knees in mud he decided that nations were just as insane and incomprehensible as the humans they embodied. “Now this!” he yelled over to Crowley “This is ineffable”  
“Is this really the time Angel?” Crowley yelled back as he tried to get his trunk back on the boat. Crowley had been in the colonies for some years before Aziraphale’s arrival and much of the chaos currently occurring could be directly attributed to his influence. (Demons love rebellions).  
“Yes! Yes it is!” snapped the Angel. “At least in the desert they had nice weather! This is awful!” And with that he decided the hell with subtle and miracle his way back onto the boat to sulk.  
Smirking Crowley finally got his luggage loose and ‘shifted’ it onto the boat. Stepping out of the shadows himself a few minutes later. Leaning over the railing he watched the combatants on the riverside. “Hey angel...”  
“What” Aziraphale snapped (he was thinking about how all the scrolls and diaries of the missionaries he bought that he would need to cataloged)  
“If you want to come up here and watch I think you’re gonna get another check mark in the win pile”  
“Really?” Aziraphale said perking up slightly and moving to look over the railing.  
“Nope my mistake” the demon popped the p in the word as he said it.  
France and England were slashing at each other with rapiers at this point having just abandoned pistols and what looked like an axe.  
Aziraphle looked at the combatants calculatingly “I don’t know England may be able to make a comeback” he said optimistically  
“Not a chance” Crowley said confidently as he watched the two fight. “And what the hell is he doing here anyway?” he nodded at France.  
“I think he’s backing up that America child.” Aziraphle said distractedly. “By the way have you seen the boy? I’d like to meet him!”  
Crowley snorted. “Good luck with that. I paid him a visit and the cheeky sod told me to go away! He doesn’t make deals”  
Aziraphale smiled “sounds like a smart boy”

O0o0o0o0  
By the late1800’s Crowley and Aziraphale had mutually decided to settle in England. Things had largely settled down between all the nation avatars (more or less in any case) and in Aziraphale’s opinion until Heaven sent a memo saying he was on perpetual babysitting duty he wasn’t intending to do so. Crowley for his part was simply tired of having to deal with them in general. It was like reasoning with a 12 year old. A 200 year old 12 year old. England had been picked due to its proximity to the other countries (in case of emergency) and because Aziraphale felt it was the right place to start a bookshop. Apparently Italy didn’t have the same feeling (and with those chatty Italy brothers he’d never get anything done anyway). Promising England that he could stop by whenever and that he was more than welcome to bring his cooking Aziraphale moved to the Soho district in 1892. Crowley moved to London the following year but he made no promises to eat England’s cooking. (Honestly he’d had better food in hell).  
1912 saw a miserable nation crying in Aziraphale’s shop. “HOW COULD HE?!” England wailed as Aziraphale (quite out of his depth) passed him a handkerchief.  
“I don’t think he did” the angel said calmly “He wouldn’t do such a thing you know.” Patting the distraught nation on the back he hummed softly, the song making England feel slightly better as all songs from heaven are apt to do. As an after thought the angel added “Well the tug boat at the beginning might have been him he does like mayhem but mass casualties….it isn’t his style…”  
England sniffed “I’ll have to go back soon I suppose. The queen will want me to do official duties. I’m sorry to bother you but….”  
Aziraphale sighed and with a snap of his fingers had the nation looking presentable again. “Do say hi to America for me.” He said as he watched the other get ready to leave.  
“Who said I was talking to him?!”  
Aziraphle just smiled.  
O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o  
World War 1 was bad. World War 2 was worse. Bad enough that Crowley and Aziraphale packed up and took a vacation. Between Crowley’s breakdown over the German camps and Aziraphale’s constant nausea from the metaphysical fighting and state of panic for his books they decided it would be best to go. The ensuing adventure to limbo and beyond (Crowley had accidently put them in the Dungeon Dimensions at one point) had kept them quite busy while the nations duked it out. Afterwards they helped rebuild. Crowley, however, had a hard time forgiving Germany and Aziraphale was in a state when he found out books had been burned. “Really!” he chided Prussia. (He had decided to tell the nation off in person. A giant wall really wasn’t an obstacle for irate angel chidings) “I thought I raised you better”  
“You raised me?” And Prussia started cackling “Azi your friend raised me far more than you did!”  
The angel leaving in a snit of offended majesty was enough to make even Russia notice.  
“Comrade Angel do you want me to beat him with a pipe?”  
Aziraphale blinked struggling for a second with the urge to say yes “no” he finally said “But I do have some things to say to you!!”  
Later when he had finished his round of chastisement (and really when did that become his job? He wondered. Wasn't that Uriel’s job?) Aziraphale went to the duck pond to unwind. Predictably Crowley showed up shortly after, this time, however, he had good news.  
“You won” he said sulkily elbowing the Angel to make him move over on the bench.  
“Won what?” Aziraphale said absently as he watched the gentlemen loitering across the green. So help him if his nice quiet park was going to be enemy agent central he might pull his smiting sword out of retirement.  
“They have a “Special Relationship” “ Crowley said “Cheeky blighters took that from us!”  
Aziraphale blinked suddenly smiling “You owe me dinner for the next 3 centuries” he said.


	2. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extra Scene aka "the children ship us"

Aziraphale frowned as he watched yet  _another_ nation slip 'subtly' into the cafe. Sipping his tea he did his best to ignore them. Crowley had said they needed to meet for 'something important angel!' and he was  _not_ dealing with whatever cockeyed scheme they had come up with jointly this time. In his quest to avoid noticing them he unfortunately noticed Poland wearing what looked like a belt (unfortunately the Angel had an impression it was supposed to be a skirt) chalking in 'have a chat with Poland' on his mental to do list for the week he resisted the urge to tell the whispering nations behind him that they were  _not_ being subtle.  Moments later Crowley appeared as usual out of thin air looking windswept as he tended to when in a rush. 

"Angel!!" he wheezed folding himself into the chair. "Do you now who showed up at my flat this morning!" 

Aziraphale blinked and then attempted to casually flick his eyes at the nations now hiding behind menus. Gaze lingering on France and England who were attempting to stab each other with the cutlery. Crowley followed his gaze, blinked, and opened his mother to ask what the bloody hell they were all doing there. However, before he could even get the first syllable out Aziraphale had managed to whisk them away to the park. Settling on a bench he looked over at Crowley who was still looking indignant.

" Dear you probably have about 10 minuets before they stop bickering and come after us" he said finally after a distracted moment at looking at the demon (was that a new shirt? and why in Go-in whoever's name what Crowley wearing a cravat?)

Crowley cleared his throat nervously. Finally moving over to the angel but not sitting. Instead he for the first time since the 'apocowasn't ' looked nervous. "Look Angel" he said finally. "we've had our Arrangement for the last 1,000 years give or take a few fights and i was wondering...." he trailed off nervously. Studiously ignoring the bushes that had begun to rustle behind Aziraphale.  Fidgeting with his sunglasses he blurted "I was wondering if you would like to formalize it and marry me please!" 

Aziraphale blinked " technically i think it's a civil union" he finally said looking up at the suddenly very pale demon. "Not that i'm saying no of course" he added. ignoring the cooing from behind him as Prussia found the duck pond. As Crowley began to look panicked he gently added "That means yes Crowley" Moving to get up off the bench. 

Crowley broke into a relived grin (that tried very hard to be smug and give the impression of 'i knew you would say yes') Sunglasses settled back on he face he pulled Aziraphale off the bench happily. 

** "kiss him you pansy" **  yelled someone from the bushes. Crowley turned as red as one of Spain's tomato's Aziraphale resisted the urge to smite. In any-case neither took responsibility for the sudden fire erupting from the bushes before Aziraphale put it out. Looking regretfully at the sad looking foliage Aziraphale thought for a second. Then... .

"FRANCE! Need i remind you how long it too  _you_ the supposed 'country of love' to get your shit together!!!" Before he could really get going, however, Crowley had whisked them away (while the nations may have had it coming Crowley knew Aziraphale would regret the likely un-angelic behavior later). Snickering as he summoned a glass of scotch and a glass of wine out of thin air he handed the wine to the fuming angel on his couch. "How much you bet Poland and Hungary volunteer as wedding planners?" he teased. At the indignant gasp of offended majesty he quickly kissed the angel enjoying the element of surprise (and the lack of an audience) A minute later the angel finally had enough presence of mind to mutter a response into Crowley's neck which was currently being hickey'd to all H-well somewhere anyway. "what was that?" Crowley asked prying the Angel up.

"As long as they let me wear tartan i don't care" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> left this out of the original story but felt like it /needed/ to be included so here you all go!


End file.
